Darasuum
by TwixtNightAndMorn
Summary: What does the past really mean in eternity? Slightly AU, follows the Bounty Hunter storyline from SWTOR. Fem!Bounty Hunter/Torian Cadera, Fem!Bounty Hunter/OC. Rated M for graphic violence and the potential for smut later on. WIP.
1. What Came Before - Sar'ika

**What Came Before – Sar'ika**

Smoke.

Sometimes, it still fills my dreams. Nothing but smoke, blinding black, searing my lungs and filling my nose. Other things begin to fill the smoke, other senses trying to make up for the lack of sight or smell. Blood, tangy and metallic, heavy on my tongue, though I'm not sure if it's mine, or belongs to someone else. Hot, sharp pain runs up my leg and spine, but I can't remember if I fell, or if the smoke I smell if from my own flesh as it burns. Sounds are what finally center me, bring me back to the present: explosions, some distant, some not so distant – and the soft, panicked whimper of the small children pressed against me in the dark. We'd been told to run, to hide, but no one had said where to go, where to hide, and the littlest ones had frozen in fear. Others had run off in any direction, not watching for what lay ahead, or who fell behind. I've always had a weakness for the little ones, staying with them when they cried, helping them when the failed at their tasks, watching out for the bullies that stalked even our small family. So when others ran, so did I, but in a different direction, back into the flames to find my littles, to bring them out of the darkness. But this darkness has no end, each turn and twist bringing with it another horror. My feet are dragging, palms scraped and cut from a dozen falls over dead bodies and onto shattered stone, but I pull my littles along. Another meter, or two, or ten, we will find safety, we will survive, but we

just…

have…

to keep…

going.

Figures loom up from the smoke, twice, three times as big as me, their faces metal skulls lit blood red by the flames. Terrified, I push the littles against the wall behind me, arms spread to try and protect them.

"_Adike_." One monster turns to the other, empty-eyed skull without mercy. "_Kih adike_."

"_Kih kyr'ade_," the other monster snarls back, taking a step towards us, something sharp and shiny ejecting from its hand with a wet thick. He's going to hurt the littles, I can read it in his movements; they're nothing to him, and will be even less dead. Everything goes black, blacker even than the smoke, black as the empty void between stars, with only one thing to fill it: no monster can have my littles. Everything I've been taught to avoid, to not feel, is there, all the hate, all the fear; it floods my mouth, overwhelming the taste of blood, and I hunger to taste it again. Somewhere, there's a scream, never ending, of pain and rage and all the dark, unspeakable things pushed far, far down so they can't be felt ever again. Maybe I'm screaming, maybe the whole universe is.

Or maybe it's just the monster, calling out to its companion as I draw my blade and slice off its head.

With a ringing sound like heavy bells from an ancient monastery I just can remember, the metal skull bounces once, twice, then lands at my feet, dumping something from its depths. And there, in the smoke, and fire, with the screams of the littles still ringing in my ears as flames claim them, I stare down at the face of my first kill.

My nightmare always ends there, disembodied head laying in a pile of sewage, the only light torches created by four burning toddlers. _Buir_ used to wake me then, just before my screams would get lout enough to rouse the camp, holding me tight against his chest just the same as he had the night he carried me from the fire. "_Udesii, ad'ika, udesii_. It's all in the past, give it time, you'll forget." Soft words, meaningless at first, to lull me back asleep, strong arms still holding me safe from the darkness. Eventually, I learned to end the dreams myself, to force myself awake before the first scream passed my lips. But my first lesson in death became a lesson of another sort – sometimes, parents are wrong. I've never forgotten, and I will never forget.

_Mando'ad draar digu_ – a Mandalorian never forgets.

_Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_… Gislie, Troe, Birshan, Eadrin, Kaysh…

Vaelann.

* * *

_A/N: Standard "I own nothing" disclaimer. I absolutely loved the BH storyline in TOR, but I've had a few bugs where Sar'ika has been getting referred to as a Sith apprentice, and she's got some Force power legacy perks, so my head-cannon is that she has the same background as my old rp character Vaelann, namely she was a Jedi who survived the Temple's destruction during the war and was adopted by the Mandos after she defended herself. For the most part Sar'ika's forgotten her past as Vaelann, but it still comes back to haunt her once in a while. So the first part is her having a nightmare, and then I think the rest of it is going to go back and forth switching POVs between her and Torian._


	2. What Came Before - Torian

**What Came Before – Torian**

Eternity isn't a one-way street; today effects yesterday as much as tomorrow. I heard an _aruetyc_ saying once from a _haryc b'aalyc vod _lamenting the things he'd seen fighting for the Sith: history is written by the victors. Winning a battle today makes a murder yesterday suddenly a tactical elimination, part of the path to victory. Losing a battle turns a man from patriot to traitor.

Turns a boy into the traitor's son.

"_Arue'tal._" Curse, name, sentence, blight – the meaning changes with the speaker. This time it is spoken with a sneer, a summons growled out by superiors to dirt. Not bothering to speak, I turn to look at the _ruus'alor_, awaiting her pleasure with respectful silence. Most of the time, she ignores me, just like the others. Invisible, until I dirty her boots.

Flames dance in the pit behind her, making a halo of the gold braids wrapped around her head and casting her features into dramatic shadows. Is she beautiful? I don't know; the other men of the _traat'aliit _seem to think so, but I stopped looking for a wife years ago.

No one wants the traitor's son.

"You're not my problem anymore, _arue'tal_." I nod, taking her meaning. That's the way it goes, bounced from one_ traat'aliit_ to another, camaraderie fleeting or non-existent, the only true _vode_ those I knew as children who share the same curse. No home, no clan. Viciously, almost like she wishes it was a knife, the sergeant thrusts a datapad into my belly, the metallic outer case clanging harshly against my beskar'gam. "Report to _ruus'alor_ Jogo on Dromund Kaas. _Mand'alor_ orders it." Something else is said before she turns to march away, some insult or challenge, but I don't listen.

Mand'alor orders it.

Seventeen years I've been waiting to hear those words, but, in this moment, I don't understand. Is it punishment, or purpose? Is now the moment that changes eternity?

Almost unconsciously, I close my left hand into a fist, ejecting the gauntlet blade with a sharp snick. Once, this gauntlet belonged to another man. A clan leader, a father, good friend of Mandalore. But then a moment came, and the good man was no more. In his place stood only a traitor. Of the things that were my father's, this is the only piece I have willingly kept. His name is a brand, his blood as it flows through my veins a curse. But this, a simple weapon left behind in the haste of escape, this is an instrument of destiny.

Eternity isn't a one-way street; in the right hands, at the right moment, this blade can change the past. No more the arue'tal, but finally a man with honor. A man who doesn't have to fear his name.

Opening my fist to pop the blade back into place, I take one last look at the fire, the ruus'alor's gold halo still apparent even in the darkness. The next time we meet, she may finally call me by my name. Maybe. My things are waiting by my bedroll, small, light, ready to move. Singing breaks out beside the pit as I walk away, the words echoing deep in my soul, a dark anthem of purpose.

_Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.  
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a. Taung!_

_Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.  
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.  
Aruetyc runi'la solus cet o'r prudii an._

_Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.  
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.  
Aruetyc runi'la solus cet o'r._

_Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.  
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.  
Aruetyc runi'la trattok'o._

_Sa kyr'am nau tracyn kad, Vode an!_

_Motir ca'tra nau tracinya. Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a. Taung!_

_Bal kote, darasuum kote,  
Jorso'ran kando a tome.  
Sa kyr'am nau tracyn kad, Vode an_.*

*Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame.  
Our vengeance burns brighter still. Taung!

Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame.  
Our vengeance burns brighter still.  
Every last traitorous soul shall kneel in our shadow.

Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame.  
Our vengeance burns brighter still.  
Every last traitorous soul shall kneel.

Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame.  
Our vengeance burns brighter still.  
Every last traitorous soul shall fall.

Forged like the saber in the fires of death, Brothers All!

Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame.  
Our vengeance burns brighter still. Taung!

And glory, eternal glory, we shall bear its weight together.  
Forged like the saber in the fires of death, Brothers All.

A/N: Standard "I don't own a damn thing" disclaimer. Lyrics for "Gra'tua Cuun" by Jesse Harlin from the Republic Commando soundtrack.


End file.
